This one was fun too. I hope nobody is offended by hippies/1960's, with some 70's thrown in there. Woot! I love mockery! (But not being sued.)

DC: I don't own fros, the words "groovy", "vibe" or "man", or Idaho. But the things I could do if I did…

"Veni, vidi, dormir" – anonymous. (That was my favorite.)

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A rather interesting smell enveloped the flower painted van as it trundled up the street. It was a mix between a burning potato field and McDonalds. The postman was very pleased with his vegetable oil powered truck, so pleased that it made his groove tingle with environmental security.

He approached Malfoy Manor.

His groove cowered at the sight of horribly arranged Fung Shui. Every blade of grass was going the wrong way, and the energy vibrating off the house in general would definably call the demon spirits.

Gripping the long-tooth comb he had for his fro, the postman went up the walk and rang the doorbell. Possibly real guitar music picked out "Staying Alive" in the minor key.

"Yessss?"

"Hey, package, man." The postman said in completely normal dialect, "For Voldy Voldy, man."

"Cool your jets for a sec, man." More day-to-day speech.

The door opened, and the smell of marijuana wafted out. The postman sniffed. At least the scent was normal…

"But the package down, man."

"That'd be groovy and all, but you just gotta sign this-" The postman raised his clipboard.

"Dude, you don't wanna mess up my vibes today. Just put the package down, get outta here."

"Man, I'd love to, but my groove just wouldn't be down with that-"

"Don't make me get out the Vietnam draft, man." The voice warned. "And there's no way you're gonna be able to reach Canada in time to escape."

Not up to any sort of showdown, as the marijuana smells were allowing him to be at peace with the world, the postman set the package down.

"Later, man." He said, and left, chugging away in his French fry oil powered van.

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Voldemort had to say; he was rather disappointed with the package. It could hardly be considered a package to begin with. It was much closer to an envelope.

He started to stroke it away, but realizing that it wasn't very fun, took out a cigarette lighter.

The envelope ablaze, and smoking severally, (which would've been a problem, except for the fact that there wasn't a single smoke detector in the whole manor) Voldemort hummed "Yellow Submarine" and pushed around the ashes in his ash tray.

Finally, when the entire envelope had disintegrated, the Dark Lord swept the charred pile from his lap and looked at the letter, completely unharmed.

"Hmm." He said. "It must take some pretty groovy vibes to get a secret weapon into this little thing."

Voldemort opened it up and read it.

Yo customer,

Our grooves are giving off vibes that the thing you have "purchased" it too humungo to be delivered. While we are totally sorry about this bad-vibe experience, we will be dropping you off your computer via the "Peace-Copter".

Peace out, man!

The Bill Gates

How humungo is this computer? Voldemort wondered.

"Yo, sir!" Snape entered respectfully through the beads hanging in the doorway. "I just made some tea. Do you have some good vibes about it?"

"Hey, why not, man." Voldemort said. "Hook me up."

Snape left and returned quickly, handing the Dark Lord a steaming mug.

Voldemort took a sip. "Whoa," he said, as the room slowly began to spin, "this is some groovy tea!"

"It's a blend of mine." Said the three different Snapes, now a variety of colors. "I steeped some of the norm, and then some of Bellatrix's powdery stuff."

"That would be her currently legal crack stash, right man?"

"Totally man…" the Snapes from all around echoed. The roof opened up, and above Voldemort could see puffy clouds, cotton candy pink and floating rainbows. He drifted upward and landed on one of the clouds, sailing through the peaceful world…

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"….Yo…."

Voldemort blinked.

"Sir…"

He slowly sat up, a hand to his head. "What…"

"It's the crack sir." Snape said, "It has good vibes, but they knock you out for a little while."

"Oh, Snape…" Voldemort moaned. "I had such a groovy dream… And now all the good vibes have ditched…"

"You were high. Now you're back on earth. But don't worry; it's completely healthy and normal."

"Good." Voldemort looked around. "I want some more tea."

"You chugged it all already."

"Then I want my marijuana."

"Right away, man."

Snape left and returned. He handed the Dark Lord a cigarette, then respectfully lit it.

"Thanks man…" Voldemort muttered woozily. "Hey, do you hear that buzzing noise?"

Snape looked around. "Whoa, I think I do." He said. "I smell burning potatoes…"

"Yo! Sir!" Lucius burst into the room, his fro frazzled with fright. "There's a helicopter above the house! It's the Man!"

"That's not groovy, Lucius." Voldemort said, striding to the door. "The Man wouldn't come after us. And the Man doesn't use potato grease as fuel; they use 'fossil fuels'" Voldemort used the quotations marks around his head.

"But sir, who could it be?" Lucius asked, cowering by the handing beads in the door.

"It's the Peace-Copter, coming with my computer!" the Dark Lord declared, "At last, my groove will be complete!"

Voldemort, Snape, and Lucius went to the window, which happened to be rather wide for story line purposes, and leaned out.

Suspended twenty feet above the roof was a helicopter with spiraling flowers painted on it, enveloped in what would've enveloped the United States, should Idaho catch fire. Hung on cables was a box the size of a small room.

"Hey man!" shouted a young Bill Gates from the cockpit, "Here's your computer!"

There was a thunk below Voldemort's face. It turned out to be his jaw. All he could do for several minutes was stare.

"Sir, we have to put it somewhere soon," Snape said. "The flax hemp supporting the box is getting some bad vibes!"

"It's what?"

Snape sighed and momentarily abandoned the everyday dialect. "It's fraying!" and then for the sake of making it more realistic, he added, "Man!"

"Oh." Voldemort nodded, and then motioned toward the roof. "Just drop it right there, man!" he shouted to Bill Gates.

"Wait!" Snape cried, "That's my room!"

"Well go get your stuff out! I'll hold them up for five minutes!"

Snape ducked out of the window and raced to his room. Voldemort stood for about thirty seconds.

"Can we put it down now, man?" called the young Bill Gates.

Voldemort shrugged. "Don't see why not! Let it go!"

Bill Gates nodded, took out his cigarette lighter, and lit the hemp on fire.

"Ahhh!" screamed Snape from his room, "Not yet, man! Not yet!"

But the box smashed down anyway. There was a muffled crunch.

"Later man!" Bill Gates shouted. "Peace out!"

The Peace-Copter flew away.

Lucius pulled his head back inside. "I'm going back to the den, man." He said.

"We have a den?" Voldemort asked, also coming back into the room.

"Den, opium den, same difference. Later." Lucius muttered, leaving.

The Dark Lord shook his head. These youngsters and their crazes. Bellatrix herself was the neighborhood's drug dealer.

He went into Snapes room. It was sad to see that the computer barely fit. Whether this was a testament to how big the computer was, or how small the room was remains to be seen.

The box, which was made out of recycled paper, had already burned off, while leaving the computer inside unscarred.

Delightedly, Voldemort searched for the screen, thinking that it must be huge, for a machine this size.

When at last he found the moniter, it turned out to be 5 inches by 5 inches, including the two inch border all the way around.

"Whoa…" Voldemort said, eyes round, "That is one humungo screen, man!" He found the on switch, which actually consisted of an entire panel, and by throwing all his body mass against it, was able to boot the machine up.

He teared up a little, until the computer died. Green letters on the black screen blinked "power failure".

Grumbling, Voldemort went downstairs, past the opium den where Lucius was lying face first on the ground, through the kitchen which was now the make-shift "pharmacy" and down the little ladder into the basement.

Using a baseball bat stored by the light switch, the Dark Lord fought off the cockroaches and their booze syringes, and located the power box.

"Now…" the Dark Lord muttered as he gazed into the mass of wires and cockroach larva, "which one… which one…"

A rather large, groovy button presented itself.

Voldemort ignored it.

Indignant, the button went out and bought a lava lamp.

"Oooh…" the Dark Lord said, "That's hip!"

He pressed the button.

As you can guess, the whole world went black.

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AN: This is on a rather serious note: I know that drugs are nothing to joke about, or to be portrayed as something "okay" because your favorite fanfic characters are doing them. These are "fake" drugs. I seriously doubt drinking steeped crack would give you happy hallucinations. Don't do drugs.